Chapter 2 - The Fortress in Tribeca
The penthouse smelled of cold marble, leather, and cedar. It was utterly devoid of color—a monochromatic sanctuary built for a man who trusted no one and slept with a Beretta on his nightstand.
It was nothing like the Westchester home we had shared. That home had been filled with sunlight, potted lemon trees, and my watercolor sketches hung on white linen walls. This place was a fortress thirty floors above the Hudson River, sealed behind fingerprint scanners and bulletproof floor-to-ceiling glass.
Leo, Julian, and Theo sat in a row on a black leather sofa that cost more than my annual rent. Julian was already methodically examining the joinery of the coffee table. Theo had his thumb in his mouth, his eyes heavy with sleep. Leo sat stiffly, his arms crossed over his small chest, staring down Gabriel’s head of security, Marco, who stood awkwardly near the wet bar holding three glasses of whole milk.
“Drink it,” Marco mumbled, looking like a man who would rather disarm a pipe bomb than babysit. “It’s... got calcium.”
“Is it poisoned?” Leo asked flatly.
Marco choked. He looked desperately at Gabriel, who had just entered the room after shedding his tuxedo jacket and rolling his white shirtsleeves up his forearms.
“Leave us, Marco,” Gabriel said quietly. “Post four men at the elevator lobby. Nobody enters. Not even my sister. Especially not Serena.”
“Understood, Boss.” Marco bowed his head slightly and retreated through the double doors, leaving the five of us in the echoing silence of the penthouse.
I stood near the boys, refusing to sit. I had declined Gabriel’s offer of water, wine, or a seat. I stood like a sentinel, my handbag clutched in both hands.
Gabriel walked to the bar, poured two fingers of Macallan, but didn't drink. He just leaned his palms against the dark mahogany, staring into the amber liquid before turning around to face us.
“Five years, Claire,” he began. His voice was dangerously calm. “Five. Whole. Years.”
“Don't use that tone with me, Gabriel,” I retorted, keeping my voice low so as not to distress the boys. “You don't get to sound betrayed. You don't get to act like the aggrieved party.”
“You hid my children from me!” He exploded, taking two violent strides forward.
Leo instantly slid off the sofa and placed himself between Gabriel and me, his little chin jutting out. “Don't yell at my mom!”
Gabriel stopped dead in his tracks.
He stared down at the little boy. The resemblance was uncanny, almost terrifying. The same widow's peak, the same stubborn set of the jaw. Gabriel knelt down, slowly, making sure his movements were non-threatening.
“I’m not yelling at your mother, Leo,” Gabriel said, his voice straining with an effort at gentleness that sounded foreign on his vocal cords. “I’m... speaking passionately.”
“You’re loud,” Julian piped up from the couch without looking up from the remote control he was dismantling. “People who are loud are usually insecure about their logic. Mom told us that.”
A strange, strangled noise escaped Gabriel’s throat. A mix between a gasp and a dry laugh.
“Smart,” Gabriel murmured, his eyes sweeping over Julian. “You taught them well, Claire.”
“I taught them to survive without you,” I replied coldly. “Which was the task you assigned to me when you slid divorce papers across the breakfast table while Serena’s perfume was still lingering on your collar.”
Gabriel’s face darkened. He stood up, turning his back to the children so they couldn't see the raw fury in his expression. “We need to talk. Alone.”
“I am not leaving my children alone in this mausoleum.”
“There is an adjoining bedroom through that archway,” he said, pointing toward a pair of frosted glass doors. “It has a king-sized bed, three televisions, and a panic room reinforced with Kevlar. They will be ten feet away. Marco is outside the exterior door. Nobody touches them.”
I looked at the boys. Theo was already slumping sideways against a velvet throw pillow, exhausted from the drama of the evening.
“Ten minutes,” I said.
I carried Theo into the massive guest bedroom. Julian followed, clutching his paper airplane and the dissected remote. Leo marched in last, checking the corners of the room with the suspicion of a seasoned soldier.
“Sleep, sweethearts,” I whispered, kissing Theo’s warm forehead and tucking him beneath a cashmere duvet. “Mommy is right on the other side of that glass. If you need anything, you yell.”
“Is that man really our dad?” Julian asked, looking at me with large, solemn eyes.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. I had promised never to lie to them. “Yes, Julian. He is.”
“Why did he leave us in Queens?”
“He didn't know about you, baby.”
“Why didn't you tell him?” Leo asked, his voice sharp with that premature maturity that broke my heart every single day. “Did he hurt you?”
I looked toward the frosted glass where Gabriel’s dark silhouette stood waiting like a coiled panther.
“He broke a promise,” I said gently. “Now go to sleep.”
I stepped out and pulled the frosted glass doors until they clicked shut.
Gabriel was waiting. He didn't waste a second. As soon as the latch clicked, he closed the distance between us, backing me against the wall until I was surrounded by his heat, his scent, and his overwhelming fury.
“Why?” he snarled, slamming his palm against the plaster next to my head. “Why Queens? Why living like a ghost? You could have had fifty million dollars! You could have had estates, private security, tutors! Look at their shoes, Claire! Julian’s sneakers have worn soles!”
“Because I would rather they wear worn shoes than grow up with a father who trades his family for a younger whore!” I spat back, refusing to shrink away.
Gabriel flinched as if I had slapped him across the mouth.
“Is that what you think happened?” he whispered.
“I saw you, Gabriel!” I shoved his chest with both hands. He didn't budge an inch, but his breath hitched. “I came to your office three nights before the papers arrived. To bring you your migraine pills. The private elevator opened. Serena was on your desk. Your hand was on her neck. You kissed her!”
Gabriel stared at me. The silence stretched between us, thick with five years of accumulated agony.
“You saw that?” he whispered.
“Yes! And three days later, you told me our marriage was dead. So don't you dare come here tonight and lecture me about fatherhood, Gabriel Cross. You chose that life. You chose her. And I chose to save our children from becoming collateral damage in your dirty, corrupt world.”
Gabriel looked at me, his eyes swirling with an emotion so violently chaotic I couldn't decipher it—rage, grief, shock, and something that looked terrifyingly like regret.
Before he could answer, the heavy double doors of the penthouse burst open.
A woman’s high-pitched scream echoed down the marble hallway.
“Gabriel! Let me in! If you don't let me in, I’m calling the district attorney! I know she’s in there!”
May you like
Serena had arrived. And she wasn't alone.
***
